


A Secret History of the Goat

by aftertherain



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-14
Updated: 2010-03-14
Packaged: 2017-10-08 00:16:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aftertherain/pseuds/aftertherain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If cars could talk, there would've been a gag order put on the Goat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Secret History of the Goat

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle IX, using the prompts '**tune-up**' and '**dirty**'
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://oxoniensis.dreamwidth.org/25077.html?thread=2764277&format=light).

Things were weird between him and Fraser, like their mojo had gone on strike or the monkey had thrown a wrench into their partnership. But if there's one thing Ray's good at, it's fixing stuff. So even though the toolbox sat only a few paces away from him, Ray made the opening move: "Hey Frase—hand me that socket wrench again will you?"

He covered the rasp in his voice with a cough, trying not to stare at Fraser bending over Ray's tools in his slightly stained tank top and worn-down jeans. He'd never seen Fraser dressed down for the purpose of getting dirty before. They could've gone slumming in Ray's old neighborhood right then and Fraser would've fit right in. Yet one more thing about Fraser that surprised him.

A sweaty tank top that looked ho-hum on any other guy made Fraser seem intentionally, obscenely naked—it left the line of his throat and his collar bones exposed, and his arms and shoulders were toned but pale after months hidden beneath his uniform. There was a dark smudge of engine grease on the white fabric at waist level, and in the sweltering midday heat Fraser looked like something out of Ray's wet dream. Fraser's movements were relaxed and easy like he'd just had really great sex. Too relaxed to be natural.

Ray was not a detective for nothing; there was definitely something wrong with Fraser today. To be fair, there was more than one thing wrong with Ray in any given hour. It was possible that Sandor had put something in their pizza as payback for Ray _accidentally_ letting Dief run free in the back kitchen, maybe some magic mushrooms or something. As evidence: the half-wolf suffered a stomachache and had to be left alone at the consulate to sulk for the rest of the day, and Ray—well, Ray felt like he better be high or else have a tumor in his brain to explain what he was seeing.

"This one, Ray?" Fraser asked, crouching down to his level, one palm laid flat on the body of the GTO for balance as he shifted closer. Those jeans weren't that tight but Ray could see the flex of Fraser's thighs as he bent low, and the shadows on the denim revealed the outline of Fraser's dick and _Jesus Christ_, Ray was going to have to blame this on the heat wave. The shade was no help when Stella didn't keep a functioning fan in her garage because she'd never needed to do her own work on the silver BMW.

Ray smacked his forehead with the back of his wrist until his face hurt enough for him to focus, muffling his thanks as he accepted the wrench. Fraser's fingertips brushed the inside of his palm, warm and dry despite the withering heat. There was intent in that touch, like Fraser wanted Ray to know he was A-OK with being here in this borrowed space—Stella's territory—helping Ray tune up his car on his rare day off from consulate duties. Like Fraser didn't have better things to do.

Ray squinted up at him from his hiding place beneath the GTO, wondering if it was time to help Fraser out by concocting a polite excuse for him to leave, something about checking on the half-wolf's digestive status before the hazmat team needed be called to the consulate. But Fraser caught Ray's speculative gaze and actually smiled to assure him before bending down, closer, to offer his assistance.

"Fraser? I'll be done with the Goat in a minute and you can go pick up Dief while I work on Stella's. The rest is easy stuff."

Except, Fraser's knees scraped the ground and momentum carried him forward until he was half dragging Ray out from under the Goat with this strange expression on his face, like he was actually _angry_ at Ray, at whatever stupid careless thing Ray had said or done unknowingly. This was finally the moment they cleared the air between them. Fraser's fingers had been gripping the back of Ray's knees, too tight; Ray could still feel their tension through his jeans.

After an awkward silence, Ray coaxed, "Hey, talk to me."

The pained expression on Fraser's face eased but did not go away. For the most part, Fraser looked the way he did right before he leapt off the edge of a building: determined and unafraid. He held Ray's face gently in his hands and planted a wet one right on Ray's lips. It was nice, and Ray expected to be replaying this scene in his fantasies for the next ten years. It took a while for Ray's brain to get with the program, to recognize the kiss for what it was, so just as Fraser started politely pulling back with the emotion in his eyes tamped down, Ray's lips got to work and he started kissing back with all that he had—tracing the soft curvature where a flash of Fraser's teeth meant he was apprehensive about proceeding; applying light pressure at the corners of his mouth which had a tendency to be weighed down by the end of a day, especially when a case had gone south. Ray's tongue thoroughly explored the contours of Fraser's mouth and, just briefly, dipped in to say hello to Fraser's tongue, a wet slide against each other followed by a quick retreat, like bumping fists except much dirtier.

Because if Ray's words tended to get him in trouble, his lips and tongue often got him out of it.

His kissing won him a wide smile from Fraser that he could feel against the skin of his cheek, then a softly whispered "_Ray_" in his ear as Fraser broke the kiss to wrap both arms around him, not caring that grease from Ray's elbows would rub off on Fraser. Fraser's palm was a steady weight, dry and warm against the back of Ray's neck.

At some point, kissing became wet and dirty tongue-fucking, and Ray had to remind himself to breathe through his nose or risk passing out. Tongue-fucking turned into Ray's fingers clenched tight in Fraser's hair as Fraser fumbled open the door on the third try and maneuvered both of their bodies halfway into the car so he could bend low to blow Ray in the front seat of the GTO, with the smell of leather and sweat saturating the air and Fraser maintaining eye contact with Ray the entire time like all of Ray's dirtiest, messiest fantasies come to life—Ray had always had a visceral reaction to having sex inside his car, too many memories there.

Fraser sucked around the head of Ray's cock before taking almost its entire length into his fucking beautiful mouth, cheeks hollowed and sucking hard, his lips wet with spit and stretched taut, then slowing down and drawing back to mouth only at the tip, delaying the moment over and over again until Ray broke down and begged.

When Ray came, he slammed his head against the seat so hard that he cut his tongue, and his groan rang loudly in the confined interior of the car. Fraser gripped the inside of Ray's thighs, riding out Ray's orgasm as he sucked and mouthed and swallowed, his touch gentling as Ray's cock was spent. Ray blinked a couple of times before his eyes could focus on Fraser, who was squeezed in a space not designed for a man his size, licking Ray's come off his fingers. Fraser's pink tongue reached out to touch the corner of his mouth where a drop of Ray's come had splattered and smeared there.

There used to be a time when Stella's handprints could be found all over the rear window, the scent of her perfume fused to the backseat. Now there was just this messy streak on the dashboard, a new stain. Ray shivered all over, knowing that Fraser had just rewired the nerve endings in Ray's body and rewritten the history of his car.

Fraser was watching Ray and Ray grinned helplessly back, his heart beating too fast in his chest. This was one hell of a tune-up on a Sunday afternoon; they were good again, they were fucking great.


End file.
